


A quiet Christmas wish

by jamlockk



Series: All the ways we love [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 06:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5529278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamlockk/pseuds/jamlockk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Holmes awakes on Christmas Eve, all he wants is to spend time with the man with whom he is deeply in love. </p><p>'I studied him closely for a moment. He was dressed in his usual attire, neat and trim. His jacket looked soft to the touch, his waistcoat a grey which complimented his deep blue eyes most pleasantly. His moustache twitched as he tried not to smile at my scrutiny. I remembered the feel of it late last evening, tickling against the nape of my neck, his breath hot as he had kissed the damp skin there, and I fought away a flush of colour to my cheeks at the memory. Watson, damn him, noticed the train of my thoughts and smirked at his paper. I reached to take a newspaper of my own and raised it over my face, shifting in my chair to make myself more comfortable.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	A quiet Christmas wish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ewebie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ewebie/gifts).



> Jam drinks before 11am, gets a bit bored waiting for solid food and writes Victorian!lock not-smut. Yup, must be Christmas. 
> 
> May it be a very merry one for all!

I awoke late in the morning, tired from the case which had just concluded successfully the day previous, and descended my rooms still clad in my nightshirt and dressing gown. I had missed breakfast but I could hear the sound of my dear friend Watson's voice addressing our landlady, enquiring as to the likelihood of there being any tea and perhaps toast for me to break my fast. Smiling to myself at the erstwhile doctor's concern for my wellbeing, I walked into the sitting room to recline in my favourite chair by the fire. 

"Good morning, Holmes!" Watson greeted me with a quiet grin. "A satisfactory evening, I trust?"

"Very," I agreed, tapping my pipe against the arm of the chair and raising it to my lips. Mrs Hudson brought my tea over to me and I nodded my thanks. Watson crossed the room to his own chair but before sitting, leant towards me with a box of matches from his pocket in his hand. As Mrs Hudson retreated downstairs, hopefully to return with my toast, I took the proffered matches and lit my pipe, puffing thoughtfully as I watched my friend settle across from me. His expression was soft and his smile warm as he picked up the nearest newspaper and began to read. 

I studied him closely for a moment. He was dressed in his usual attire, neat and trim. His jacket looked soft to the touch, his waistcoat a grey which complimented his deep blue eyes most pleasantly. His moustache twitched as he tried not to smile at my scrutiny. I remembered the feel of it late last evening, tickling against the nape of my neck, his breath hot as he had kissed the damp skin there, and I fought away a flush of colour to my cheeks at the memory. Watson, damn him, noticed the train of my thoughts and smirked at his paper. I reached to take a newspaper of my own and raised it over my face, shifting in my chair to make myself more comfortable. 

Mrs Hudson bustled back in carrying a fresh tea tray and I was delighted to smell a batch of her fresh scones waft in through the open door. 

"Now, there we are," she said cheerfully, laying the tray on the table and smoothing her hands down the front of her dress. "I shall bring you some scones when they are ready, but then you must look after yourselves," she declared. I lowered my paper and raised an eyebrow. She sighed and looked at Watson, who simply grinned. 

"Oh honestly, Mr Holmes! I told you and Dr Watson here that I was to be visiting with my sister across town for a day or so for Christmas, and you should have to make your own meal with the provisions in the pantry! Dr Watson assured me you would be able to manage a light dinner between you. I should think with a little thought you might be able to provide a lovely feast for the dear Doctor!" 

Watson looked up to meet my gaze behind our landlady's back. "I am sure Holmes will provide ample sustenance to sate my hunger," said he, a mischievous glint in his lovely eyes. I quirked my mouth and looked away lest the flush return to my cheeks and give away my innermost desires. 

"Quite," said I, "shouldn't you be going then, Mrs Hudson? Leaving imminently?" 

She tutted at my rudeness and shook her head affectionately. Watson set aside his newspaper and rose from his chair. "I shall see you out, Mrs Hudson," he announced, his hand at her back as he escorted her downstairs. As he departed he looked pointedly over his shoulder at me and winked. I coughed on my tobacco smoke and recrossed my legs once more. 

He returned momentarily and stood leaning slouched against the door jamb. I could feel his hungry eyes on me and I struggled not to squirm. How he is able to make my skin feel as if it were afire, my veins singing with electricity as they have never done even with the purest cocaine, the hair on my arms standing on end and a flush of heat coursing through my entire body, with merely a certain look in his eyes. How mad he makes me, and in his presence like this I feel as though I have taken leave of my senses. Ne'er am I happier to feel untethered, existing solely for his attentions with no higher functions than the desire to please him. 

"You are not dressed," he said, his voice low and his tone teasing. "It is quite indecent."

I tilted my head haughtily, "I am never decent," I replied. He laughed. "Indeed, my dear boy, it is one of my very favourite things about you." 

He crossed the room and dropped to his knees at my feet, his hands resting on my thighs. The heat of his palms seared through my thin dressing gown, his touch a welcome brand upon my skin. I tried to contain the warmth pooling in my middle at his proximity. 

"Watson," I breathed, "I do believe you are now the indecent one." His answering huff of laughter was drowned out by my sharp inhale as he traced circles into the muscles my upper leg with his fingers. He raised his head towards me as I lowered my face, my gaze inexorably drawn to his mouth. His soft, wonderful mouth. I could feel his breath against my cheek as our foreheads came to meet one another and we breathed into each other's open mouths for a moment, savouring the anticipation of the kiss. Then he tilted his head up and his lips met mine. 

Oh, the feeling of his kiss made my heart soar. Light, delicate, a thing of promise, the heat between us no less with each passing minute, simply building towards an unstoppable conflagration, completion in every brush of our lips. It is a flame I will ere be happy by which to be most thoroughly consumed. 

A trilling of the bell startled us and Watson jumped up as if stung. The bitter bite of separation nipped at my chest as I heard the thundering steps of Lestrade mounting the stairs. Of all times to be given a case! I cursed. 

Watson smiled at me ruefully and retreated to his chair, nodding at my groin meaningfully as he sat. I gathered my dressing gown around me to conceal my current state. Lestrade is not usually terribly observant but it would not do to be caught so. 

"Morning gents," greeted Lestrade. "What do you have for me?" I snapped, eager to be done with whatever petty trifles he had brought. 

"Holmes," Watson admonished softly. "I am sure the Inspector has something interesting to have brought him to our apartments on Christmas Eve." We looked expectantly at the policeman. He cleared his throat and began to tell us the story of a missing wife and an apparently murderous goose. I rose to dress as the Inspector finished and then left to await us at the scene of the crime. I cast a longing look at my chair then nodded to Watson to hurry. 

As he descended the stairs to advise Mrs Hudson, who was preparing to leave herself, that we had been given a case and would require the maid to remain and clear up the breakfast dishes forthwith, I made a promise to myself to ensure our previous activity did not go to waste or was lost or forgotten in the rush of the puzzle. 

"Merry Christmas, John," I whispered softly.


End file.
